A Plucky Girl by Mrs L T Meade

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Title: A Plucky Girl

Author: L. T. Meade

Release Date: October 21, 2012 [EBook #41136]

Language: English

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Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistent
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On page 169, "household gods" should possibly be "household
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Cover

A PLUCKY GIRL

BY

MRS. L. T. MEADE

AUTHOR OF "CECELIA'S AWAKENING," "PEGGY FROM KERRY,"

"FOR DEAR DAD," "A WILD IRISH GIRL," "A GIRL

OF HIGH ADVENTURE," "THE CHESTERTON

GIRL GRADUATES," ETC., ETC.

NEW YORK

HURST & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1900, by

George W. Jacobs & Co.

Contents

CHAP
PAGE

I. FORTUNE'S BALL
1

II. FRIENDS OR QUONDAM FRIENDS
9

III. MY SCHEME
23

IV. THE VERDICT
31

V. JANE MULLINS
55

VI. THE BERLIN WOOL ROOM
74

VII. THE PAYING GUESTS
83

VIII. THE FLOUR IN THE CAKE
96

IX. THE ARTIST'S EYE
103

X. HER GRACE OF WILMOT
116

XI. WHY DID HE DO IT?
132

XII. TWO EXTREMES
147

XIII. THE UGLY DRESS
160

XIV. ANXIETY
176

XV. DR. READE
186

XVI. GIVE ME YOUR PROMISE
199

XVII. A DASH OF ONIONS
207

XVIII. BUTTERED BREAD
222

XIX. YOU USED TO LOVE US
234

XX. RUINED
242

XXI. MR. PATTENS
250

XXII. THE MAN IN POSSESSION
262

XXIII. ALBERT
273

XXIV. THE BOND
297

XXV. YOU ARE A GOOD MAN
311

XXVI. HAND IN HAND
319

XXVII. TOO LATE
324

XXVIII. THIS DEAR GIRL BELONGS TO US
336

XXIX. HAVE I LOST YOU?
345

XXX. THE DUCHESS HAS HER SAY
356

XXXI. THE END CROWNS ALL
368

A PLUCKY GIRL

CHAPTER I

FORTUNE'S BALL

I was born a month after my father's death, and my mother called me after him. His name was John Westenra
Wickham, but I was Westenra Wickham alone. It was a strange name for a girl, and as I grew up people used to
comment on it. Mother loved it very much, and always pronounced it slowly. She was devoted to father, and never
spoke of him as most people do of their dead, but as if he were still living, and close to her and to me. When a very little
child, my greatest treat was to sit on her knee and listen to wonderful stories of my brave and gallant father. He was a

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handsome man and a good man, and he must have possessed, in a large degree, those qualities which endear people to
their fellows, for surely it was no light cause which made my mother's beautiful brown eyes sparkle as they did when she
spoke of him, and her whole face awake to the tenderest life and love and beauty when she mentioned his name.

I grew up, therefore, with a great passionate affection for my dead father, and a great pride in his memory. He had been
a Major-General in a Lancer regiment, and had fought many battles for his country, and led his men through untold
dangers, and performed himself more gallant feats than I could count. He received his fatal wound at last in rescuing a
brother-officer under fire in Zululand, and one of the last things he was told was that he had received his Victoria Cross.

During my father's lifetime mother and he were well off, and for some years after his death there did not appear to be
any lack of money. I was well educated, partly in Paris and partly in London, and we had a pretty house in Mayfair,
and when I was eighteen I was presented to Her Gracious Majesty by mother's special friend, and my godmother, the
Duchess of Wilmot, and afterwards I went a great deal into society, and enjoyed myself as much as most girls who are
spirited and happy and have kind friends are likely to do. I was quite one and twenty before the collapse came which
changed everything. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but our gold vanished like a dream, and we found
ourselves almost penniless.

"Now what are we to do, Westenra?" said mother.

"But have we nothing?" I replied.

"Only my pension as your dear father's widow. Your pension as his child ceased when you came of age, and I believe,
for so our lawyers tell me, that there is about fifty pounds besides. I think we can count on a hundred and fifty a year.
Can we live on that sum, Westenra?"

"No," I answered proudly.

I was standing behind one of the silk curtains in the drawing-room as I spoke. I was looking down into the street. The
room was full of luxury, and the people who passed backwards and forwards in their luxurious carriages in the street
below were many of them our friends, and all more or less moved in what was called nice society. I was full of quite
unholy pride at that moment, and poverty was extremely distasteful, and to live on a hundred and fifty pounds a year
seemed more than impossible.

"What is it, West? What are you thinking of?" said mother, in a sad voice.

"Oh, too many things to utter," I replied. "We can't live on the sum you mention. Why, a curate's wife could scarcely
manage on it."

"Don't you think we might just contrive in a very small cottage in the country?" pleaded mother. "I don't want much, just
flowers round me and the country air, and your company, darling, and—and—oh, very small rooms would do, and the
furniture of this house is ours. We could sell most of it, and send what we liked best down to the cottage."

"It can't be done," I answered. "Listen, mother, I have a proposal to make."

"What is it, my darling? Don't stand so far away—come and sit near me."

I walked gravely across the room, but I did not sit down. I stood before mother with my hands tightly locked together,
and my eyes fastened on her dear, lovely, delicate old face.

"I am glad that the furniture is ours," I began.

"Of course it is."

"It is excellent furniture," I continued, looking round and appraising it quickly in my mind's eye: "it shall be part of our
capital."

"My dear child, our capital? What do you mean?"

"We will take a house in Bloomsbury, put the furniture in, and have paying guests."

"West, are you mad? Do you remember who I am—Mrs. Wickham, the widow of—or no, I never will allow that word
—the wife of your dear, dear, noble father."

"Father would approve of this," I answered. "He was a brave man and died fighting, just as I mean to die fighting. You
are shocked at the idea to-night, mother, because it is fresh to you, but in a week's time you will grow accustomed to it,
you will take an interest in it, you will even like it. I, bury myself in the country and starve!—no, no, no, I could not do
it. Mother, darling, I am your slave, your devoted slave, your own most loving girl, but don't, don't ask me to vegetate
in the country. It would kill me—it would kill me."

I had dropped on my knees now and taken both her hands in mine, and I spoke with great excitement, and even
passion.

"Don't stir for a moment," said mother; "how like your father you look! Just the same eyes, and that straight sort of
forehead, and the same expression round your lips. If your father were alive he would love you for being brave."

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As mother looked at me I think she forgot for the moment the terrible plunge we were about to make into the work-a-
day strata of society, but the next instant the horrid fact was brought back to her, for Paul, our pretty little page, brought
in a sheaf of letters on a salver. Of course they were unpaid bills. Mother said sadly—

"Put them with the others, Westenra."

"All these bills must be met," I said stoutly, after Paul had closed the door behind him. "There will be just enough money
for that purpose, so we need not start handicapped. For my part, I mean to enjoy our scheme vastly."

"But, my child, you do not realise—you will be stepping down from the position in which you were born. Our friends
will have nothing to do with us."

"If they wish to give us up because we do something plucky they are not worthy to be called friends," was my reply. "I
don't believe those friends we wish to keep will desert us, mother. On the contrary, I am certain they will respect us.
What people cannot stand in these days is genteel poverty—its semi-starvation, its poor mean little contrivances; but
they respect a hand-to-hand fight with circumstances, and when they see that we are determined to overcome in the
battle, then those who are worth keeping will cling to us and help us; and if all our friends turn out to be the other sort,
mother, why"—and here I rose and stretched out my arms wide—"let them go, they are not worth keeping. Those who
won't be fond of us in our new home in Bloomsbury we can do without."

"You are enthusiastic and—and ignorant," said mother.

"I grant that I am enthusiastic," I answered. "It would be a great pity if I had none of that quality at one and twenty; but
as to my ignorance, well, time will prove. I should like, however, to ask you a straight question, mother. Would father
have sat beside his guns and done nothing when the fight was going against him? Was that the way he won his Victoria
Cross?"

Mother burst out crying. She never could bear me to allude to that fatal and yet glorious occasion. She rose now, weak
and trembling, and said that she must defer the discussion of ways and means until the next day.

I put on my hat and went for a walk alone. I was full of hope, and not at all depressed. Girls in these days are always
glad to have something new to do, and in the first rush of it, the idea of leaving the humdrum path of ordinary society
and of entering on a new and vigorous career filled me with ecstacy. I don't really think in the whole of London there
was a prouder girl than the real Westenra Wickham; but I do not think I had ordinary pride. To know titled people
gave me no special pleasure, and gay and pretty dresses were so common with me that I regarded them as the merest
incidents in my life, and to be seen at big receptions, and at those "At Homes" where you met the most fastidious and
the smartest folks, gave me no joy whatsoever. It is true I was very fond of my godmother, the Duchess of Wilmot, and
of another dear little American friend, who had married a member of the Cabinet, Sir Henry Thesiger. But beyond these
two I was singularly free from any special attachments. The fact is, I was in love with mother. Mother herself seemed to
fill all my life. I felt somehow as if father had put some of his spirit into me, and had bound me over by a solemn vow to
look after her, to comfort her, to guard her, until he himself came to fetch her, and now my thought of thoughts was how
splendid and how necessary it would be to keep her usual comforts round my dainty, darling, lovely mother, to give her
the food she required, and the comfortable rooms and the luxury to which she was born; and I felt that my pride, if I
could really do that, would be so great and exultant, that I should hold my head higher than ever in the air. Yes, I would
have a downright good try, and I vowed I would not fail. It seemed to me as I turned home again in the sweet golden
summer evening that fortune's ball lay at my feet, that in the battle I would not be conquered, that like my father I in my
own way would win the Victoria Cross.

CHAPTER II

FRIENDS OR QUONDAM FRIENDS

Mother used to say that there were times when her daughter Westenra swept her right off her feet.

"I can no more resist you," she used to remark on these occasions, "than if you were a great flood bearing me along."

Perhaps never did mother find my power so strong, so determined as on the present occasion. It was in vain for her,
poor darling, to speak of our friends, of those dear, nice, good people who had loved father and for his sake were
good to his widow. I had my answer ready.

"It is just this, mother," I said, "what we do will cause a gleaning—a sifting—amongst our friends. Those who are worth
keeping will stay with us, those who are not worth keeping will leave us. And now do you know what I mean to do? I
mean this morning, with your leave, to order the carriage, the carriage which we must put down at the end of the week,

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but which we can certainly keep for the next couple of days, and go round to our friends and tell them what we are
about to do."

"You must go alone then, Westenra, for I cannot go with you."

"Just as you please, mother. I would rather you had the courage; but still, never mind, darling, I will do it by myself."

Mother looked at me in despair.

"How old are you?" she said suddenly.

"You know quite well," I replied, "I was twenty-one a month ago."

Mother shook her head sadly.

"If you really intend to carry out this awful idea, West, you must consider youth a thing of the past," she said.

I smiled and patted her cheek.

"Nothing of the sort," I answered; "I mean to be young and vigorous and buoyant and hopeful as long as I have you
with me, so there! Now, may I ring the bell and tell Paul to desire Jenkins to bring the victoria round at eleven o'clock?"

Mother could not refuse, and having executed this order I sat down with considerable appetite to breakfast. I was really
enjoying myself vastly.

Punctual to the hour, I stepped into our pretty carriage. First of all I would visit my dear old godmother, the Duchess of
Wilmot.

Accordingly, early as it was, I told Jenkins to drive me to the Duchess's house in Park Lane. When we drew up at the
house I jumped out, ran up the steps and sounded the bell. The man who opened the door informed me that her Grace
was at home to no one at so early an hour.

I thought for a moment, then I scribbled something on a little piece of paper.

"Dear Duchess," I said, "I want to see you particularly, the matter is very urgent.—Your god-daughter,

Westenra Wickham."

This I twisted up and gave to the man.

"Give that to her Grace, I will wait to see if there is an answer," I said.

He came down in a moment or two.

"Her Grace will see you, Miss Wickham," he said.

I entered the house, and following the footman up some winding stairs and down some corridors, I was shown into the
small boudoir where the Duchess generally sat in the morning. She was fully dressed, and busily writing notes.

"That will do, Hartop," she said to the man; "close the door, please. Now then, Westenra, what is the meaning of this?
What eccentric whim has induced you to visit me at so early an hour?"

"I wanted to tell you something," I said; "mother is awfully distressed, but I thought you had better know."

"How queer you look, my child, and yet I seldom saw you brighter or handsomer. Take off your hat and sit near me.
No, I am not specially busy. Is it about the Russells' reception? Oh, I can take you if your mother is not strong enough.
You want to consult me over your dress? Oh, my dear Westenra, you must wear——"

"It has nothing to do with that," I interrupted. "Please let me speak. I want to say something so badly. I want to consult
you."

"Of course," said her Grace.

She laid her jewelled hand on my arm. How I loved that white hand! How I adored my beautiful old friend! It would be
painful to give her up. Was she going to give me up?

"I will tell you something quite frankly," I said. "I love you very much; you have always been kind to me."

"I am your godmother, don't forget."

"A great trouble has come to us."

"A great trouble, my dear, what do you mean?"

"Mother thinks it a fearful trouble, and I suppose it is, but anyhow there are two ways of taking it. There is the sinking-
down way, which means getting small and poor and thin, anaemic, in short, and there is the bold way, the sort of way

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when you stand up to a thing, you know what I mean."

"You are talking school-boy language. My grandson Ralph would understand you; he is here; do you want to see him? I
am a little too busy for riddles, Westenra."

"Oh! I do beg your pardon. I know I am taking a great liberty: no one else would come to you at so early an hour."

"Well, speak, my dear."

"We have lost our money."

"Lost your money!" cried the Duchess.

"Yes; everything, or nearly everything. It was through some bad investments, and mother was not at all to blame. But
we have nothing left, or nearly nothing—I mean we have a hundred and fifty a-year, about the price of one of your
dresses."

"Don't be personal, Westenra—proceed."

"Mother wants to live in a cottage in the country."

"I do not see how she could possibly do it," said the Duchess. "A cottage in the country! Why, on that pittance she
could scarcely afford a workman's cottage, but I will speak to my friends; something must be arranged immediately.
Your dear, lovely, fragile mother! We must get her a suite of apartments at Hampton Court. Oh! my poor child, this is
terrible."

"But we do not choose to consider it terrible," I replied, "nor will we be beholden to the charity of our friends. Now,
here is the gist of the matter. I have urged mother to take a house in Bloomsbury."

"Bloomsbury?" said the Duchess a little vaguely.

"Oh, please Duchess, you must know. Bloomsbury is a very nice, healthy part of the town. There are big Squares and
big houses; the British Museum is there—now, you know."

"Oh, of course, that dreary pile, and you would live close to it. But why, why? Is it a very cheap neighbourhood?"

"By no means; but city men find it convenient, and women who work for their living like it also, and country folks who
come to town for a short time find it a good centre. So we mean to go there, and—and make money. We will take our
furniture and make the house attractive and—and take paying guests. We will keep a boarding-house. Now you
know."

I stood up. There was a wild excited feeling all over me. The most daring flight of imagination could never associate the
gracious Duchess of Wilmot with a lodging-house keeper, and mother had always hitherto been the Duchess's equal. I
had never before felt distrait or nervous in the Duchess's presence, but now I knew that there was a gulf between us—
that I stood on one side of the gulf and the Duchess on the other. I stretched out my hands imploringly.

"I know you will never speak to me again, you never can, it is not to be thought of. This is good-bye, for we must do it.
I see you understand. Mother said that it would part us from our friends, and I thought she was wrong, but I see now
that she was right. This is good-bye."

Before she could prevent me I dropped on my knees and raised the jewelled hand to my lips, and kissed it
passionately.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Westenra," said the Duchess then, "don't go into hysterics, nor talk in that wild way. Sit down
again quietly, dear, and tell me what sort of person is a boarding-house keeper."

Her tone made me smile, and relieved the tension.

"Don't you really know?" I asked; "did you never hear of people who take paying guests? They swarm at the seaside,
and charge exorbitant prices."

"Oh, and rob you right and left," said the Duchess; "yes, my friends have told me of such places. As a rule I go to hotels
by preference, but do you mean, Westenra, that your mother is going to live in apartments for the future?"

"No, no," I answered wildly; "she will have a house, and she and I, both of us, will fill it with what they call paying
guests. People will come and live with us, and pay us so much a week, and we will provide rooms for them, and food
for them, and they will sit with us in the drawing-room and, and—perhaps we will have to amuse them a little."

The Duchess sank feebly back in her chair. She looked me all over.

"Was there ever?" she asked, "I scarcely like to ask, but was there ever any trace of insanity in your family?"

"I have never heard that there was," I replied. "It is certainly not developing in me. I have always been renowned for my
common sense, and it is coming well to the fore now."

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"My poor child," said the Duchess tenderly. She drew me close to her. "You are a very ignorant little girl, Westenra,"
she said, "but I have always taken a deep interest in you. You are young, but you have a good deal in your face—you
are not exactly pretty, but you have both intelligence and, what is more important from my point of view, distinction in
your bearing. Your father was my dear and personal friend. The man he rescued, at the cost of his own life, was my
relation. I have known your mother too since we were both girls, and when she asked me, after your dear father's
death, to stand sponsor to his child I could not refuse. But now, what confused rigmarole are you bringing to my ears?
When did the first symptoms of this extraordinary craze begin?"

"A fortnight ago," I answered, "when the news came that our money, on which we had been living in great peace and
comfort, had suddenly vanished. The investments were not sound, and one of the trustees was responsible. You ought
to blame him, and be very angry with him, but please don't blame me. I am only doing the best I can under most
adverse circumstances. If mother and I went to the country we should both die, not, perhaps, of physical starvation, but
certainly of that starvation which contracts both the mind and soul. It would not matter at all doing without cream and
meat, you know, and——"

"Oh dear," interrupted the Duchess, "I never felt more bewildered in my life. Whatever goes wrong, Westenra, people
have to live, and now you speak of doing without the necessaries of life."

"Meat and cream are not necessary to keep one alive," I replied; "but of course you have never known the sort of
people who do without them. I should certainly be hand and glove with them if I went into the country, but in all
probability in the boarding-house in Bloomsbury we shall be able to have good meals. Now I must really say good-bye.
Try and remember sometimes that I am your god-daughter ... and that mother loves you very much. Don't quite give us
both up—that is, as far as your memory is concerned."

The Duchess bustled to her feet. "I can't make you out a bit," she said. "Your head has gone wrong, that is the long and
short of it, but your mother will explain things. Stay to lunch with me, Westenra, and afterwards we will go and have a
talk with your mother. I can either send her a telegram or a note."

"Oh, I cannot possibly wait," I replied. "I drove here to-day, but we must give up the carriage at the end of the week,
and I have other people to see. I must go immediately to Lady Thesiger. You know what a dear little Yankee she is,
and so wise and sensible."

"She is a pretty woman," said the Duchess, frowning slightly, "but she does not dress well. Her clothes don't look as if
they grew on her. Now you have a very lissom figure, dear; it always seems to be alive, but have I heard you aright?
You are going to live in apartments. No; you are going into the country to a labourer's cottage—no, no, it isn't that; you
are going to let apartments to people, and they are not to have either cream or meat. They won't stay long, that is one
comfort. My poor child, we must get you over this craze. Dr. Paget shall see you. It is impossible that such a mad
scheme should be allowed for a moment."

"One thing is certain, she does not take it in, poor darling," I said to myself. "You are very kind, Duchess," I said aloud,
"and I love you better than I ever loved you before," and then I kissed her hand again and ran out of the room. The last
thing I saw of her round, good-humoured face, was the pallor on her cheeks and the tears in her eyes.

Lady Thesiger lived in a large flat overlooking Kensington Gardens. She was not up when I called, but I boldly sent my
name in; I was told that her ladyship would see me in her bathroom. I found her reclining on a low sofa, while a pretty
girl was massaging her face.

"Is that you, Westenra?" she said; "I am charmed to see you. Take off your hat. That will do, Allison; you can come
back in half-an-hour. I want to be dressed in time for lunch."

The young woman withdrew, and Lady Thesiger fixed her languid, heavily-fringed eyes on my face.

"You might shut that window, Westenra," she said, "that is, if you mean to be good-natured. Now what is it? you look
quite excited."

"I am out of bondage, that is all," I said. I never treated Jasmine with respect, and she was a power in her way, but she
was little older than I, and we had often romped together on rainy days, and had confided our secrets one to the other.

"Out of bondage? Does that mean that you are engaged?"

"Far from it; an engagement would probably be a state of bondage. Now listen, you are going to be awfully shocked,
but if you are the good soul I think you are, you ought to help me."

"Oh, I am sure I will do anything; I admire you very much, child. Dear me, Westenra, is that a new way of doing your
hair? Let me see. Show me your profile? I am not sure whether I quite like it. Yes, on the whole, I think I do. You have
pretty hair, very pretty, but now, confess the truth, you do wave it; all those little curls and tendrils are not natural."

"As I love you, Jasmine, they are," I replied. "But oh, don't waste time now over my personal appearance. What do you
think of my physical strength? Am I well made?"

"So-so," answered Lady Thesiger, opening her big dark eyes and gazing at me from top to toe. "I should say you were
strong. Your shoulders are just a trifle too broad, and sometimes I think you are a little too tall, but of course I admire

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you immensely. You ought to make a good marriage; you ought to be a power in society."

"From this hour, Jasmine," I said, "society and I are at daggers drawn. I am going to do that sort of thing which society
never forgives."

"Oh, my dear, what?" Lady Thesiger quite roused herself. She forgot her languid attitude, and sat up on her elbow. "Do
pass me that box of Fuller's chocolates," she said. "Come near and help yourself; they are delicious, aren't they?"

I took one of the sweetmeats.

"Now then," said her ladyship, "speak."

"It is this. I must tell you as briefly as possible—mother and I have lost our money."

"Oh, dear," said the little lady, "what a pity that so many people do lose their money—nice people, charming people
who want it so much; but if that is all, it is rather fashionable to be poor. I was told so the other day. Some one will
adopt you, dear; your mother will go into one of the refined order of almshouses. It is quite the fashion, you know,
quite."

"Don't talk nonsense," I said, and all the pride which I had inherited from my father came into my voice. "You may think
that mother and I are low down, but we are not low enough to accept charity. We are going to put our shoulders to the
wheel; we are going to solve the problem of how the poor live. We will work, for to beg we are ashamed. In short,
Jasmine, this diatribe of mine leads up to the fact that we are going to start a boarding-house. Now you have the truth,
Jasmine. We expect to have charming people to live with us, and to keep a large luxurious house, and to retrieve our
lost fortune. Our quondam friends will of course have nothing to do with us, but our real friends will respect us. I have
come here this morning to ask you a solemn question. Do you mean in the future to consider Westenra Wickham, the
owner of a boarding-house, your friend? If not, say so at once. I want in this case to cut the Gordian knot quickly.
Every single friend I have shall be told of mother's and my determination before long; the Duchess knows already."

"The Duchess of Wilmot?" said Lady Thesiger with a sort of gasp. She was sitting up on the sofa; there was a flush on
each cheek, and her eyes were very bright. "And what did the Duchess say, Westenra?"

"She thinks I am mad."

"I agree with her. My poor child. Do let me feel your forehead. Are you feverish? Is it influenza, or a real attack of
insanity?"

"It is an attack of downright common-sense," I replied. I rose as I spoke. "I have told you, Jasmine," I said, "and now I
will leave you to ponder over my tidings. You can be my friend in the future and help me considerably, or you can cut
me, just as you please. As to me, I feel intensely pleased and excited. I never felt so full of go and energy in my life. I
am going to do that which will prevent mother feeling the pinch of poverty, and I can tell you that such a deed is worth
hundreds of 'At Homes' and receptions and flirtations. Why, Jasmine, yesterday I was nobody—only a London girl
trying to kill time by wasting money; but from this out I am somebody. I am a bread-winner, a labourer in the market.
Now, good-bye. You will realise the truth of my words presently. But I won't kiss you, for if you decide to cut me you
might be ashamed of it."

CHAPTER III

MY SCHEME

I arrived home early in the afternoon.

"Dear mother," I said, "I had an interview with the Duchess of Wilmot and with Lady Thesiger. After seeing them both,
I had not the heart to go on to any more of our friends. I will describe my interview presently, but I must talk on another
matter now. Our undertaking will be greatly prospered if our friends will stick to us and help us a little. If, on the other
hand, we are not to depend on them, the sooner we know it the better."

"What do you mean?" asked my mother.

"Well, of course, mother dear, we will have our boarding-house. I have thought of the exact sort of house we want. It
must be very large and very roomy, and the landlord must be willing to make certain improvements which I will suggest
to him. Our boarding-house will be a sort of Utopia in its way, and people who come there will want to come again.
We will charge good prices, but we will make our guests very comfortable."

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Mother clasped my hand.

"Oh, my dear, dear child," she said. "How little you know about what you are talking. We shall have an empty house;
no one will come to us. Neither you nor I have the faintest idea how to manage. We shall not only lose all the money we
have, but we shall be up to our ears in debt. I do wish, Westenra, you would consider that simple little cottage in the
country."

"If it must come to our living within our means," I said slowly, "I have not the least doubt that the Duchess of Wilmot
would allow me to live with her as a sort of companion and amanuensis, and influence would be brought to bear to get
you rooms in Hampton Court; but would you consent, mother darling, would you really consent that I should eat the
bread of dependence, and that you should live partly on charity?"

Mother coloured. She had a very delicate colour, and it always made her look remarkably pretty. In her heart of hearts,
I really do think she was taken with the idea of Hampton Court. The ladies who lived in those suites of apartments were
more or less aristocratic, they were at least all well connected, and she and they might have much in common. It was, in
her opinion, rather a distinction than otherwise to live there, but I would have none of it.

"How old are you, mother?" I asked.

"Forty-three," she answered.

"Forty-three," I repeated. "Why, you are quite young, just in the prime of middle-age. What do you mean by sitting with
your hands before you for the rest of your life? You are forty-three, and I am twenty-one. Do you think for a single
moment that able-bodied women, like ourselves, are to do nothing in the future; for if I did go to the Duchess my post
would be merely a sinecure, and you at Hampton Court would vegetate, nothing more. Mother, you will come with me,
and help me? We will disregard society; if society is ashamed of us, let it be ashamed, but we must find out, and I have
a scheme to propose."

"You are so full of schemes, Westenra, you quite carry me away."

Dear mother looked bewildered, but at the same time proud of me. I think she saw gleaming in my eyes, which I know
were bright and dark like my father's, some of that spirit which had carried him with a forlorn hope into the thickest of
the fight, and which enabled him to win the Victoria Cross. There are a great many Victoria Crosses to be secured in
this world, and girls can get and wear some of them.

"Now," I said, "we need not give up this house until the autumn. The landlord will then take it off our hands, and we
shall move into our Bloomsbury mansion, but as I did not quite succeed to-day in knowing exactly how we stood with
our friends, I propose that next week we should give an 'At Home,' a very simple one, mother, nothing but tea and
sweet cakes, and a few sandwiches, no ices, nothing expensive."

"My dear Westenra, just now, in the height of the season, would any one come?"

"Yes, they will come, I will write to all the friends I know, and they will come out of curiosity. We will invite them for
this day fortnight. I don't know any special one of our friends who has an 'At Home' on the third Friday in the month.
But let me get our 'At Home' book and see."

I looked it out, and after carefully examining the long list of our acquaintances, proclaimed that I thought the third Friday
in the month was a tolerably free day.

"We will ask them to come at three," I said, "a little early in the afternoon, so that those who do want to go on to friends
afterwards, will have plenty of time."

"But why should they come, Westenra; why this great expense and trouble, just when we are parting with them all, for if
I go to Hampton Court, or the country, or to that awful boarding-house of yours, my poor child, my days in society are
at an end."

"In one sense they are, mother, nevertheless, I mean to test our friends. People are very democratic in these days, and
there is no saying, but that I may be more the fashion than ever; but I don't want to be the fashion, I want to get help in
the task which is before me. Now, do hear me out."

Mother folded her hands in her lap. Her lips were quivering to speak, but I held her in control as it were. I stood before
her making the most of my slender height, and spoke with emphasis.

"We will ask all our friends. Paul will wait on them, and Morris shall let them in, and everything will be done in the old
style, for we have just the same materials we ever had to give a proper and fashionable 'At Home,' but when they are all
assembled, instead of a recitation, or music, I will jump up and stand in the middle of the room, and briefly say what we
mean to do. I will challenge our friends to leave us, or to stick to us."

"Westenra, are you mad? I can never, never consent to this."

"It is the very best plan, and far less troublesome than going round to everybody, and they will be slightly prepared, for
the dear Duchess will have mentioned something of what I said this morning to her friends, and I know she will come.
She won't mind visiting us here just once again, and Jasmine will come, and—and many other people, and we will put

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the thing to the test. Yes, mother, this day fortnight they shall come, and I will write the invitations to-night, and to-
morrow you and I will go to Bloomsbury and look for a suitable house, for by the time they come, mother, the house
will have been taken, and I hope the agreement made out, and the landlord will have been consulted, and he will make
the improvements I suggest and will require. It is a big thing, mother, a great big venture for two lone women like
ourselves, but we will succeed, darling, we must succeed."

"You are a rock of strength, West," she answered, half proudly, half sadly, "you are just like your father."

That night I sent out the invitations. They were ordinary notes of invitation, for on second thoughts I resolved not to
prepare our many acquaintances beforehand. "Mrs. Wickham at home on such a day," nothing more.

I posted the letters and slept like a top that night, and in the morning awoke with the tingling sensation which generally
comes over me when I have a great deal to do, and when there is an important and very interesting matter at stake. I
used to feel like that at times when I was at school. On the day when I won the big scholarship, and was made a sort of
queen of by the other girls, I had the sensation very strongly, and I felt like it also when a terrible illness which mother
had a few years ago came to a crisis, and her precious life lay in the balance. Here was another crisis in my career,
almost the most important which had come to me yet, and I felt the old verve and the old strong determination to
conquer fate. Fate at present was against me, but surely I was a match for it: I was young, strong, clever, and I had a
certain entrée into society which might or might not help me. If society turned its back on me, I could assuredly do
without it. If, on the other hand, it smiled on me, success was assured in advance.

I ran downstairs to breakfast in the best of spirits. I had put on my very prettiest white dress, and a white hat trimmed
with soft silk and feathers.

"Why, Westenra, dressed already?" said mother.

"Yes, and you must dress too quickly, Mummy. Oh, there is Paul. Paul, we shall want the victoria at ten o'clock."

Paul seemed accustomed to this order now. He smiled and vanished. None of our servants knew that their tenure with
us was ended, that within a very short time mother and I would know the soft things of life no more. We were dragging
out our last delicious days in the Land of Luxury; we were soon to enter the Land of Hard Living, the Land of
Endeavour, the Land of Struggle. Might it not be a better, a more bracing life than our present one? At least it would be
a more interesting life, of that I made sure, even before I plunged into its depths.

Mother ate her breakfast quite with appetite, and soon afterwards we were driving in the direction of Bloomsbury.

Jenkins, who had lived with us for years, and who had as a matter of course imbibed some of the aristocratic notions of
our neighbourhood, almost turned up his nose when we told him to stop at the house of a well-known agent in
Bloomsbury. He could not, like the Duchess of Wilmot, confess that he did not know where Bloomsbury was, but he
evidently considered that something strange and by no means comme il faut had occurred.

Presently we reached our destination, it was only half-past ten.

"Won't you get out, mother?" I asked as I sprang to the pavement.

"Is it necessary, dear child?" replied mother.

"I think it is," I answered; "you ought to appear in this matter, I am too young to receive the respect which I really merit,
but with you to help me—oh, you will do exactly what I tell you, won't you?"

"My dear girl!"

"Yes, Mummy, you will, you will."

I took her hand, and gave it a firm grip, and we went into the house-agent's together.

CHAPTER IV

THE VERDICT

The first thing I noticed when I entered the large room where Messrs Macalister & Co. carried on their business, was a
young man, tall and very well set up, who stood with his back to us. He was talking earnestly to one of Macalister's
clerks, and there was something about his figure which caused me to look at him attentively. His hair was of a light
shade of brown, and was closely cropped to his well-shaped head, and his shoulders were very broad and square. He
was dressed well, and had altogether that man-of-the-world, well bred sort of look, which is impossible to acquire by

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any amount of outward veneer. The man who stood with his back to us, and did not even glance round as we came into
the agent's office, was beyond doubt a gentleman. I felt curiously anxious to see his face, for I was certain it must be a
pleasant one, but in this particular fate did not favour me. I heard him say to the clerk in a hurried tone—

"I will come back again presently," and then he disappeared by another door, and I heard him walking rapidly away.
Mother had doubtless not noticed the man at all. She was seated near a table, and when the clerk in question came up
to her, seemed indisposed to speak. I gave her a silent nudge.

"We want—ahem," said my mother—she cleared her throat, "we are anxious to look at some houses."

"Fourteen to fifteen bedrooms in each," I interrupted.

"Fourteen to fifteen bedrooms," repeated mother. "How many sitting rooms, Westenra?"

"Four, five, or six," was my answer.

"Oh, you require a mansion," said the agent. "Where do you propose to look for your house, madam?"

He addressed mother with great respect. Mother again glanced at me.

"We thought somewhere north," she said; "or north-west," she added.

"W.C.," I interrupted; "Bloomsbury, we wish to settle in Bloomsbury."

"Perhaps, Westenra," said my mother, "you had better describe the house. My daughter takes a great interest in
houses," she added in an apologetic tone to the clerk. The face of the clerk presented a blank appearance, he showed
neither elation nor the reverse at having a young lady to deal with instead of an old lady. He began to trot out his
different houses, to explain their advantages, their aristocratic positions.

"Aristocratic houses in Bloomsbury—aristocratic!" said mother, and there was a tone of almost scorn in her voice.

"I assure you it is the case, madam. Russell Square is becoming quite the fashion again, and so is"—he paused
—"Would Tavistock Square suit you?" he said, glancing at me.

"I do not know," I answered. "I seem to be better acquainted with the names of Russell Square or Bloomsbury Square.
After all, if we can get a large enough house it does not greatly matter, provided it is in Bloomsbury. We wish to see
several houses, for we cannot decide without a large choice."

"You would not be induced, ladies, to think of a flat?" queried the agent.

Mother glanced at me; there was almost an appeal in her eyes. If I could only be induced to allow her to live in a tiny,
tiny flat—she and I alone on our one hundred and fifty a year—but my eyes were bright with determination, and I said
firmly—

"We wish to look at houses, we do not want a flat."

Accordingly, after a little more argument, we were supplied with orders to view, and returning to the carriage I gave
brief directions to Jenkins.

During the rest of the morning we had a busy time. We went from one house to another. Most were large; some had
handsome halls and wide staircases, and double doors, and other relics of past grandeur, but all were gloomy and dirty,
and mother became more and more depressed, and more and more hopeless, as she entered each one in turn.

"Really, Westenra," she said, "we cannot do it. No, my darling, it is hopeless. Think of the staff of servants we should
require. Do look at these stairs, it is quite worth counting them. My dear child, such a life would kill me."

But I was young and buoyant, and did not feel the stairs, and my dreams seemed to become more rosy as obstacles
appeared in view. I was determined to conquer, I had made up my mind to succeed.

"Whatever happens you shall not have a tiring time," I said affectionately to my dear mother, and then I asked one of the
caretakers to give her a chair, and she sat in the great wide desolate drawing-room while I ran up and down stairs, and
peeped into cupboards, and looked all over the house, and calculated, as fast as my ignorant brain would allow me, the
amount of furniture which would be necessary to start the mansion I had in view.

For one reason or another most of the houses on the agent's list were absolutely impossible for our purpose, but at last
we came to one which seemed to be the exact thing we required. It was a corner house in a square called Graham
Square, and was not so old by fifty years as the houses surrounding it. In height also it was a storey lower, but being a
corner house it had a double frontage, and was in consequence very large and roomy. There were quite six or seven
sitting rooms, and I think there were up to twenty bedrooms in the house, and it had a most cheerful aspect, with
balconies round the drawing-room windows, and balconies to the windows of the bedrooms on the first floor. I made
up my mind on the spot that the inmates of these special rooms should pay extra for the privilege of such delightful
balconies. And the windows of the house were large, and when it was all re-papered and re-painted according to my
modern ideas, I knew that we could secure a great deal of light in the rooms; and then besides, one whole side faced
south-east, and would scarcely ever be cold in winter, whereas in summer it would be possible to render it cool by sun-

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blinds and other contrivances. Yes, the house would do exactly.

I ran downstairs to mother, who had by this time given up climbing those many, many stairs, and told her that I had
found the exact house for our purpose.

"Seventeen Graham Square is magnificent," I said. "My dearest, darling mother, in ten years time we shall be rich
women if we can only secure this splendid house for our purpose."

"We do not even know the rent," said mother.

"Oh, the rent," I cried. "I forgot about that. I will look on the order to view."

I held it in my hand and glanced at it. Just for a moment my heart stood still, for the corner house commanded a rental
of two hundred and eighty pounds a year. Not at all dear for so big a mansion, but with rates and taxes and all the other
etceteras it certainly was a serious item for us to meet, and would be considered even by the most sanguine people as a
most risky speculation.

"Never mind, never mind," I cried eagerly, "we will secure this house; I do not think we need look at any of the others."

I crumpled up the remaining orders. Mother stepped into the carriage, and Jenkins took us back to the agent's.

"You must speak this time, Westenra," said mother. "Remember it is your scheme, darling; I am not at all accustomed to
this sort of business; it will be necessary for you to take the initiative."

"Very well, mother, I will; and suppose you stay in the carriage." I uttered these last words in a coaxing tone, for the
tired look on her face almost frightened me, and I did not want her to take any of the worry of what I already called to
myself "Westenra's grand scheme."

I entered the office, and the man who had attended to us in the morning came forward. I told him briefly that of the
many houses which we had looked over, the only one which would suit our purpose was No. 17 Graham Square.

"Ah," he answered, "quite the handsomest house on our list. Do you want it for your own occupation, Miss—Miss
——"

"Wickham," I said. "Yes, of course we want the house for ourselves—that is, mother would like to rent it."

"It is a high rent," said the man, "not of course high for such a fine mansion, but higher than the rest of the houses in the
Square. It contains a great many rooms." He glanced at me as though he meant to say something impertinent, but,
reading an expression of determination on my face, he refrained.

"How soon can we take possession of the house?" I asked. "It would of course be papered and painted for us?"

"If you take a lease, not otherwise," answered Macalister's clerk.

"I think we would take a lease," I replied. "What is the usual length?"

"Seven, fourteen, twenty-one years," he answered glibly; "but I do not think the landlords round here would grant a
longer lease than fourteen years."

"Oh, that would be quite long enough," I answered emphatically. "We should like to arrange the matter as soon as
possible, we are greatly pleased with the house. Of course the drains must be carefully tested, and the entire place
would have to be re-decorated from cellar to attic."

"For a fourteen years' lease I doubt not this would be done," said the man, "but of course there are several matters to
be gone into. You want the house for a private residence, do you not?"

"Yes, and no," I said faintly. There was a room just beyond where I was seated, and at that moment I heard a book fall
heavily to the ground. It startled me. Was any one in there listening to what we were saying?

The clerk stepped forward and quietly closed the door.

"To be frank with you," I said, "we wish to secure 17 Graham Square in order to start a boarding-house there."

The man immediately laid down the large book in which he had been taking my orders.

"That will never do," he said. "We cannot allow business of any sort to be carried on in the house, it would destroy all
the rest of the property. It is far too aristocratic for anything of the kind."

"But our house would be practically private," I said; "I mean," I continued, stammering and blushing, and feeling ready
to sink through the floor, "that our guests would be extremely nice and well-behaved people."

"Oh, I have no doubt whatever of that," replied the clerk, "but there is a condition in every lease in that special Square,
that money is not to be earned on the premises. I presume your guests would not come to you for nothing?"

"Certainly not," I replied. I felt myself turning cold and stiff. All the angry blood of my noble ancestors stirred in my
veins. I said a few more words and left the shop.

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"Well?" asked mother. She was looking dreary and terribly huddled up in the carriage. It was a warm day, but I think
going through those empty houses had chilled her. "Well, Westenra, have you taken No. 17?"

"Alas! no," I answered in some heat; "would you believe it, mother, the agent says the landlord will not let us the house
if we make money in it."

"If we make money in it? I do not understand," answered mother. Her blue eyes were fixed on my face in an anxious
way.

"Why, mother, darling, don't you know we meant to fill the house with paying guests."

"Oh, I forgot," said mother. "Home, Jenkins, as fast as possible."

Jenkins whipped up the horses, and we trotted home. Mother looked distinctly relieved....